by Annette Dashofy
The universe has been sending us cats lately.
Some of you might already know about my Skye kitty AKA the Camping Kitty. I rescued her three years ago and she’s a sweetheart. She enjoys camping and late night parties.
She tolerates my husband. Unless he has chicken. Then he’s her best friend. Bats her little eyelashes at him like a real pro. She ain’t cheap, but she can be bought.
I’ve often pondered getting a second cat…one that wouldn’t have to be bribed to snuggle up to Hubby. I think he misses Fluffy who passed away four years ago. She was more like a bean bag than a real cat. He’d flop her down next to him on the couch and she’d stay there.
Try that with Skye and you get some fiercely dirty looks as she squirms and bolts. To add insult to injury, she usually escapes from him only to run to me and curl up on my lap. All while still giving him that evil eye. Nah nah. She’s definitely Mama’s Girl.
So along comes Moochie. Mooch is the neighbor’s cat. Except that when he was sick recently, they avoided getting close to him. I, on the other hand, fed him and petted him and made a fuss over the poor guy. I also went through a whole bottle of Germ-X so that I wouldn’t bring anything in to Skye. Now Mooch thinks he lives here.
I’ve threatened to lay claim to Mooch, haul him to the vets and get his…err…nuts chopped. Sorry, guys. But he’s a hyperactive boy, and I fear would completely trash the house were I to bring him inside.
Plus, Skye hates him. She had a brief fling with him last winter through the window, but he jilted her for another cat and she’s never forgiven him.
Now along comes this little calico kitten. Someone must have dropped her off. She’s timid, but sweet. And she’s bony. Probably flea infested. But, darn she’s cute.
Hubby picked her up the other day and flipped her over. “Look,” he said as he pointed out the ugly hole in her throat.
Ick. She had a warble. If you don’t know what a warble is…well, it’s a botsfly worm. I won’t go into details since some of you might be eating your breakfast. Suffice it to say that I have worked on an ambulance, and this thing still grossed me out.
Hubby managed to use tweezers to extract the thing (double ick). The kitten just lay there in his hand and let him. I then flushed the wound with peroxide (note to self: need to pick up betadine at the store) and the kitty still didn’t protest. Hubby sat her down, amazed and said, “She’s a keeper.”
Since the minor surgery, she’s doing quite well. Seems relieved to have that nasty thing out of her throat. She has a purr like a diesel engine.
And then there’s Skye.
Can you tell she’s none-too-happy with the newcomer?
I’m not sure what the future holds here. With Hubby still unemployed, taking another kitty to the vet for shots, flea dip, neutering, and various assorted other stuff that inevitably crops up, just isn’t in the budget.
Anyone want a really cute, really tame kitten?
For the moment, I’m thinking we should at least name her. Maybe a name from literature? I’m not good at this, so I’m taking suggestions. Feel free to offer up your suggestions for names. And if you’d like to give a kitty a good home, let me know that, too.